Daddy Long Legs
by Suimuran
Summary: Following Light's acceptance into Quillsh Academy, his family is murdered and he is left with the desire to exact revenge. But under the weight of war with other prodigies and the watchful eyes of his new benefactor, Deneuve, how is Light to punish his family's murderer? And who, pray tell, dropped this notebook? LxLight, MelloxMatt, Near angst Loosely based on J. Webster's book.
1. Bienvenue à l'Académie

**SUIMURAN: **Hello, everyone. I'm here to bring back an old fanfiction of mine that many of you, provided that 'you' still include the readers of 07-09, seemed to really enjoy but were mercilessly separated from. I, whose former pen name was Poisoned Shinigami, had deleted all my fanfictions for some reason that has to do with wanting to disappear from the face of the earth. It ended a couple of years ago, and I had wanted to rewrite for a long time, but I was worried that this place was dying out and nobody frequents the Death Note category anymore. Well, I decided I'd give it a try anyway. I really hope my old readers will find this and remember it, remember meeeee! Keep in mind that since everything was deleted, and time has passed enough for me to forget many things AND change my writing style, it will differ quite a bit. Theme's the same though.

Here's a recap/summary of what this fanfiction was about: Light Yagami gets accepted into the Quillsh Academy, a school for child prodigies from around the world. He had hoped to study well and graduate, come back to Japan, and live a happy life with his family. However, his family becomes three of the many who are murdered in a public shooting, leaving Light all alone. In comes the great and mysterious Deneuve, who, having reviewed Light's impressive records and needing a definite successor, proposes to be the boy's benefactor. This is how I'd based this fic on Jean Webster's Daddy Long Legs, as Deneuve does not make a full appearance until later on and only communicates with Wammy and the top prodigies with letters/e-mails. Also, of course, long legs. The Death Note itself will be coming into play here as well, so expect Ryuk, and a lot of him.

* * *

**Daddy Long Legs**

.

Light Yagami, at sixteen years old, was perhaps the most intelligent human being that ever attended school in his region. Hell, maybe even the country. That was three points right off the bat. He was also the most attractive boy in his group, with chestnut brown hair and almond eyes which, paired with a perfectly-trained smile, had the power to render the entire female population of the world breathless. That was another three points right there. For an additional two: his terrifying ability to morph into a social butterfly at any given event. His athleticism and physical health? Two points. With a total of ten points, it can be safely assumed that Light Yagami was perfect. At least, that's what he seemed. Indeed, behind every face who thinks it right to call themselves 'perfect' is a great and terrible ego. Not that anyone besides Light saw that in himself.

And what did a perfect son deserve, if not a school that could - at the very least - adequately challenge his skills? This was the question that faced Chief Soichiro Yagami and his wife Sachiko when they heard that a certain school in England had taken a special interest in their son. As fate would have it, an English professor had visited Light's current school the week before, had an intense debate with the teenager and was quite simply decimated within ten minutes. Humiliated yet thoroughly impressed, the professor had alerted the academy from which he came and told them of this boy wonder. He then proceeded to speak to Light and his parents about the possibility of a foreign learning experience. An exchange of sorts took place immediately; questions were thrown, copies of phenomenal records were sent. Weeks passed and kisses were planted, and before long Light found himself standing before an enormous campus with nothing but his two suitcases.

That was how quickly it all seemed to happen. In fact, knowing Light, he would have been able to describe that experience in only one sentence.

What he would have not been able to do, however, was know beforehand that his entire family would suddenly be killed in a matter of seconds by a barrage of gunfire. He would have had no way of knowing that, poor boy. And so, as the gates opened and he first set foot into the Quillsh estate, Light Yagami had no clue that he, at that precise moment of his life, became an orphan.

Now that took away one point.

.

_I. Bienvenue à l'Académie_

.

He was met at the entrance by one sadly-hunched elderly man in a yellow sweater. He had the face of some tired creature or other who had seen too much and rested too little, despite the smile stretched between his wrinkles. Prince Light hardly thought this face was a decent welcome and was personally rather offended by it, but thought better than to react negatively. Instead, he put on his friendliest smile and greeted the man first in steady English.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Light Yagami," the old man nodded at him, unfazed. "My name is Roger. Welcome to the Academy."

He gestured to the campus by slightly raising his arms. Even without being inside the actual place itself, the Academy was already overwhelming. Three separate gargantuan buildings formed a square together with the gate walls, enclosing a vast stretch of free space for people to take walks and play. There were others still out even as the sun was setting, frolicking across the grass or reading by themselves. Many of them appeared to be younger than Light, which was a little bothersome, as he was not very fond of younger children. No matter. He had been informed they were all 'geniuses' there. They can't possibly act like the regular little freaks from the regular schools. Still...Light could not help but question these children's abilities, as he walked past one of them stuffing his boogers inside a yoyo.

"If you would please follow me, Light Yagami," Roger said.

Light turned his head back to look at him, walking slowly after him into the main building. They were finally starting to capture the others' attention as they made their way inside. Light could feel more and more eyes coming to rest on his face as they tried to get a good look at the new student. Needless to say, he was unmoved by all the attention. Even just walking, he was a god compared to these people. He knew that. For goodness' sake, some of the girls were already swooning behind him! Easy. Light knew he would dominate this whole school in only a matter of days. The Japanese prodigy made eye contact with the females sneakily following them and aimed one powerful smile.

"Dear god!" errupted a voice.

"Ohh, so cute!" exclaimed another.

"...She's flat as a board!"

Worked like a charm. He hadn't started class here yet, and already his reputation...Wait. What? _She_? Light snapped his head towards the kid who shouted that unbelievably moronic statement. A redheaded boy of around twelve stood confidently in the center of the group of girls, obviously torn between watching Light and playing with the Gameboy in his hands. Upon choosing the former his eyes hit Light's in an instant, the fire burning there enough to scare him shitless.

"Did she hear me?" he muttered to one of the girls, who elbowed him and giggled.

"That's a _boy_, you dumbass."

Roger, clearly not paying the kids any mind, broke Light's glare by placing a hand on his shoulder and instructing him to climb the stairway by himself.

"The head of the Academy is waiting for you in his office," he told him. "It's the door directly across the top of the stairs. Go on."

Light nodded politely at him and slowly started climbing the stairs, forgetting all about the redhead. He was about to meet the man who founded the Quillsh Academy! As he took each step, he wondered to himself what the man looked like, what he thought of Light's records, what he would say to him when he entered. His heart started beating erratically in his chest. This was the man to impress, he knew it. He can't possibly mess this meeting up. Before knocking on the door, he made sure that he looked presentable, which was entirely too unnecessary seeing that he was _always_ presentable. Still. Light ran a hand through his hair, having left his suitcases with Roger, and proceeded to knock on the oak door.

"Come in."

Obediently, Light twisted the knob open and entered the office.

Quillsh Wammy, founder of the Academy, sat before Light at a large mahogany desk. From behind him, the setting sun was pouring the last of its rays into the room, dramatically silhouetting the man's form. Light's heart stopped for one long second as he took in the sight, before finally calming down to resume its regular pace. He was fine. He would handle this well. He was even excited to display his near-flawless use of the English language.

"Sit down, Light Yagami," said Wammy in a voice that was wearier than that of Roger's. He motioned towards the only chair on the other side of his desk. Light walked forwards and took his seat.

"It's nice to finally meet you, sir," he offered a hand to the head of the Academy, who shook it firmly.

"And you as well, young man. Welcome to the Academy"

Light could tell that he was being observed. Fortunately, Quillsh Wammy's stare felt more like a sweet little grandfather's than it did a man who made great forces out of his students. He had an air of warmth about him, very sweet and yet undoubtedly firm, and with the hint of a heavy past yet to be disclosed to anyone. The sixteen-year-old took an immediate liking to him, turning his smile from fake to genuine.

"As you already know," Wammy began, shifting into a more professional mood. "This school is far from ordinary. I house almost two hundred uniquely gifted students of all ages here, where they can get the proper education and training that suits their needs. I expect nothing but the best from each of my students, if they want to prove they _are_ the best. There is no exception in your case, Light Yagami, once your curriculum is determined. Your abilities will be heavily observed and tested, and you will be ranked according to your progress. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Light responded. He wouldn't even have to _try_ and prove himself, he was sure. But, to be ranked? That was interesting.

"Moving on then," the old man nodded, more to himself than the boy before him. "For security measures, none of our students use their real names. It is strictly forbidden to use real names in this school. Only I and a select few members of the staff are allowed to see our students' personal documents and records."

At this, Light raised a questioning brow. Why on earth would real names be forbidden...?

"Each of you are given a nickname-a pseudonym, if you will-to which you will be referred for the rest of your time here in the Academy. This is very important for you to remember, Light, and I will explain this and the ranks to you shortly. For now, however, I will give you your new name. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the boy replied. He was slowly becoming nervous as an effect of Mr. Wammy's grave voice.

"All right."

The man before Light pulled out a card from his coat pocket and gently slid it towards him across the desk. Light, heart beating frantically at the idea of being re-named, shakily received the card and read his new destiny written in deep black ink:

**SIN.**

_-The lunar god. Mesopotamian mythology._

Light's heart soared. The name itself left much to be desired, as the prince was not exactly fanatical about the English meaning of the word and was largely unfamiliar with Mesopotamian mythology. The part that intrigued him was that this Sin was the god of the moon in that mythology. Now that, he quite fancied. In any case it was but a nickname, and although he'd have to endure others calling him Sin until he graduated, he decided he'd make do. All that was left for him to wonder about now, was...

"Now, the reason for the pseudonym and the ranking. You may not have been informed of this initially, as it is something shared only within the Quillsh family. But in this very Academy, we strive to educate our students so that they may one day be the ones to make this world better. In order to make sure they rise to the top _safely, _we keep their identities safe at all costs. Justice is a very heavy burden, _Sin_. Someone who chooses to deliver and protect justice will undoubtedly make many enemies along the way. By protecting their identities and giving them replacement backgrounds and names, we are reducing the chances of our students...and consequently, the world...being seriously harmed."

"Keep in mind, however, that not all of you will be choosing to walk this path. We apply identity protection to everyone nonetheless. For those who have set their sights on different goals, the system of pseudonyms and rankings is nothing but a school game. An empty contest. For those who choose justice, on the other hand, they will be competing for the prize of inheritance."

"You see, a few years ago, one person rose to the top and became one of our greatest students. Needless to say, I am proud of this man, for I had seen him work his way from being an orphan to becoming the world's best detective. He left behind an impressive record, one that has yet to be surpassed by anyone. The ranking system we have now is designed to display..."

Light's attention quite simply fell off the face of the earth upon hearing the words "world's best detective." There was no way...Could he...Was Wammy talking about...

"_Deneuve?_" he suddenly exclaimed. Wammy stopped speaking, startled by the boy's voice.

"Do you mean _Deneuve_?"

"Yes. Deneuve."

His heart soared. Light had heard of this person before in books or articles he'd found online, as well as little slips his father gave away when talking about the more challenging cases in his job. The man was indeed a legend, albeit one that hid within the knowledge of authority figures and occultist fans. Rumors were spread among those who knew of his existence. For example, apparently he had toppled over the very foundations of several corrupted departments. Once, he'd rescued an entire warehouse full of human trafficking victims without even being anywhere near the area. Come to think of it, he was also responsible for the drastic decrease in organized criminal activity in New York. Rumors like those were what caused Light to possess a nagging interest in the man, which always pulsed in the back of his mind every now and then. To single-handedly defeat the evil, to successfully and continuously deliver justice to a world falling into itself...it was a dream of his that Deneuve was living, and to think that he was now living in the same place the legend once occupied brought to Light a feeling of utter amazement.

Wammy seemed to notice an idea spreading across the new student's face. Chuckling, he pulled out a piece of paper from his desk drawer and handed it to Light.

"So you already understand where I'm going with this," he said, smiling. "This is a copy of the ten current best pupils in the Academy. If you want to become Deneuve's successor as much as it appears you do, you must first prove your worth and make it to the top of the list."

Light went over the paper several times, memorizing the competitors' names and faces. Of course, before completely destroying them, he would have to be acquainted with them first, right? His eyes stopped at the very top of the paper, where it blatantly stated that a child no older than eleven was currently the leading student in the entire school. A little boy! And a sickly-looking one, no less. Light knew better than to judge by appearances, but he couldn't help the surge of confidence-almost bordering on cockiness-now coursing through his veins. He was sure these kids would come crashing down when he intervened. He would merely be playing a level game, each one more difficult than the last. A challenge, finally! He was better than all of them, he was sure of it. And while we're on that topic, hell, he could even be better than the detective himself.

_He_ could be _better_ than Deneuve.

Light smiled to himself. Boredom has finally ceased to exist in his life, now that he had a worthwhile goal.

.

* * *

**SUIMURAN: **I have a habit of starting quickly, trying to rush the story along by throwing in the gist of at least one of the main conflicts. Etcetera. One of these days I will have the patience for a proper exposition. Today is not that day. Although this is but the beginning, reviews would be greatly appreciated, be you one of my old readers or not. I hope you are as excited as I am for the resurrection of this fic!

Dream well, everyone.


	2. Mercredi Bleu

**SUIMURAN: **What I feared has really happened. Looking through it once more, I realized that traffic in the Death Note fanfiction archive has drastically dwindled since the last time I contributed to it. All the legendary fanfictions have either finished or been neglected for years_. _(My life has been at a standstill since Ezan last updated _True Elision_). Readers are few and far between. Many of them all but take a peek and leave without so much as a whisper. This place is a wasteland! Where are you, fans of Death Note? Have y'all grown out of it? Hello?

Moving on.

Matt is the first Wammy boy introduced here because he is my favorite and I've arranged a very special role for him. So expect a lot of him around as well. I'm describing him as the redhead, green-eyed guy many of us imagined him as, by the way. I got used to that more than the anime version of his appearance. Also, I'm not done with 'exposition,' and I'm hoping to get it all in the next couple of chapters so I can get going with the actual story.

**Important Note:** I would like to apologize for any kind of confusion regarding the identity of Deneuve! Perhaps it was the way I spelled the name in the previous chapter (Danuve, which I think I just got from the subs from watching the anime in '07). Anyway, Deneuve was a pseudonym that L used in the past, according to the series. Here in this fanfiction, I will be referring to L with that pseudonym, until Light actually meets and gets to know him. So there that is. L is Deneuve, Light's benefactor, and the top student described was indeed Near. Once again, I apologize for the mix-up. Thank you to **Seishirou Hitsugaya** for pointing out my mistakes in the previous chapter, and thank you to **Chellyisback** for being the first to review.

* * *

**Daddy Long Legs**

.

Wednesday, bloody Wednesday. The redhead did not even have the chance to realize the time until the light started slipping away from his goggles. Having been too immersed in the world his Gameboy offered, he once again failed to start on his assignments before dinnertime. After that, as always, there was no possibility of them being considered again until they were due. He shrugged in usual submission to his laziness and decided to go back downstairs. Dinner would start anytime soon, and he was not about to have the seat furthest from the bread basket again. Not this time. The redhead stamped his foot in determination and started his march to the dining room...but not without starting a new game in that handheld of his.

Coincidentally, Light Yagami happened to be wandering the halls of the dormitories at that same hour. Roger had shown him into his room about thirty minutes ago, but Light felt immediately bored so he decided to walk around. In his hands he held a felt tip pen and a map of the campus. Notes were scribbled all across the piece of paper, labeling important rooms and little niches the traveler found rather pleasant. He seemed to be leading an expedition of the Academy on his own, completely unaware of the fellow living things that passed him every now and then. Could it be destiny, then, that the lack of attention to fellow human beings was the reason that-

_BAM_

-caused Light and the redhead to crash into each other when they turned the same corner?

Well?

.

_II. Mercredi Bleu_

.

The pain was excruciating. Light found that he bore the brunt of the accident as he writhed on the floor, torn between cradling his wrist and his left leg. His map was ripped by the collision between his hand and the redhead's Gameboy, rendering both items absolutely useless. Tragic. The younger boy, on the other hand, stood motionless before Light as if in the middle of one groundbreaking epiphany. Seeing that he wasn't about to be helped back to his feet, Light quickly regained composure and scrambled upwards.

"Sorry..." the word oozed out of Light's mouth like blood. He hated apologizing, especially when he wasn't at fault, but he had to excuse himself from this situation as soon as possible. He had better things to do than...

Was that the redhead that called him a girl earlier? He took a closer look at the boy and realized that this was indeed the fool that dared insult him by the staircase. His stomach lurched with the realization of who Light had just apologized to.

Suddenly, the redhead let a piercing shout erupt from his lips. It reverberated throughout the empty hall as the boy fell to his knees, placing his hands over a red heap of broken pieces.

"Gaaah! My only portable source of entertainment!"

Stunning choice of words, Light thought, raising his eyebrows. The boy before him crumpled his face in unadulterated agony, crying out and cursing the names of every villain he could remember defeating in his games. It seemed to drag on for an amount of time that would have been amazing, if Light hadn't been bored out of his wits. After a few minutes, having run out of Gameboy villains, he'd drawn in a long breath and started on a stream of villains from other consoles. Dear god...yet Light couldn't find it in himself to flee the scene and save his sorry life. The redhead seemed to have some sort of odd gravitational pull...

"Fuck you, SHODAN! Fuck you too, Luca Blight, you twisted fuck! Rot in hell, Orad! Don't even think I've forgotten about you, Sephiroth! Man, fuck all y'all..."

Noticing the sigh that punctuated that pathetic tirade, Light took his chance to interrupt the redhead before he could even think of starting again.

"Impressive. Now that you're done," he said, somehow managing a small smile. "Are you all right? I'm very sorry about your Gameboy."

After a moment of silence the redhead looked up from the floor, finally deciding to pay attention to his victim. Rather than the scowl of seven minutes ago, however, there was a slightly triumphant grin stretched across his face.

"Yeah'm okay," was his reply. "I can fix that thing in a jiffy!"

A pause. Light's patience promptly crumbled into a pile of dust.

_Are you fucking kidding me._

"A jiffy, I tell you!"

_This idiot!_

"Jiffy...You're the new kid, right?" the redhead got back up, dusted himself off, and extended a hand towards Light. "I'm Matt."

Fuming internally, Light took Matt's hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm...I'm Sin."

The nickname rolled off his tongue all too uncomfortably; he couldn't help but think of the English meaning of the word, although his Sin stood for the god of the moon. In Mesopotamia. Whatever.

"Sin? What'd you do, eat the forbidden apple?" Matt quipped, the sly grin spreading back on his face.

Offended, Light's frozen smile squeezed out a quiet, "Excuse me?" at which his new acquaintance chuckled.

"Haha! Relax. We were all given our nicknames here, y'know. We didn't all like it," he said, gathering the remains of his handheld and cramming them into his pockets. "I think it's time for dinner. Let's go together, yeah? I know a great seat close to the bread basket..."

And before he knew it, Light found himself actually walking alongside this prick! Matt was now rambling tonelessly, almost absently, about the functions of a Gameboy and the various games he'd played on it. It was as if the boy had gone into an autopilot sort of mode, seeing as his eyes didn't seem to be looking at their current plane of existence at all...Light decided that Matt was one interestingly odd character, albeit considerably annoying. Still, like before, he couldn't just up and leave him. Was it because, unlike with all the other people who'd ranted to him before, Matt's topic of choice could be deemed the least boring and most stimulating, as far as rants could go? Possibly. He rarely heard knowledge like this outside of documentaries and his own speeches. This was a school for smart kids, after all. Besides, Matt was his first new acquaintance, whether he liked it or not. He should be able to expand his reputation starting from this idiot/computer genius.

Upon reaching the dining area, Light noticed Matt's eyes shine back to life. The green orbs started searching the room immediately, scanning the crowd of children in front of them with something akin to excitement. Light observed that expression and had to smile in spite of himself.

_Really, what a weird kid._

Matt's elated face soon fell as he realized he couldn't find what he was looking for.

"The fucker's not here," he exclaimed sourly. "I was gonna introduce you to my friend, but I guess he's still out praying or some shit."

"I see."

Dejected, he tapped Light's arm and led him to one of the four large tables in the middle of the room, where the crowd was concentrated. In an instant, the tumult of hungry and talkative children stopped, as if aware of an entirely new presence in the room. A hundred faces slowly turned to Light's, like pins drawn towards a giant magnet. Now, Light was accustomed to being the center of attention, but this happened so quickly that he had no time to even _think_ of a way to properly react. Without getting creeped the hell out, at least.

"Oh hi, guys. This is the new kid."

A long and quiet evaluation was clearly processing in each student's head as they looked Light up and down.

"It's a boy, by the way. Hence the flatness."

Maybe, just _maybe, _it will be a little harder to charm these people than Light had initially assumed. He tried his best to keep that damn smile on his face, as evaluations ended and a storm of interrogations came rushing his way.

.

Wednesday, bloody Wednesday. Mello did not even have the chance to realize what time it was before the afternoon started slipping away from him. The light pouring in through the chapel's stained glass windows was beginning to fade, awakening him from a daze that had been holding him hostage for an hour. It was the blond's routine to visit the chapel after class every day...but on this particular day, despite having knelt for almost four hours, Mello couldn't seem to focus on his prayers. Although a rosary was hanging between his fingers, it was the last thing in Mello's mind at the moment. See, rumor was going around that a new student arrived today, a new student with unbridled potential that the administration couldn't wait to tap into. Mello rolled his eyes, internally spitting. (Of course! Another genius! As if they needed another guinea pig in this filthy zoo)! Rumor also had it that the Academy's most important product, the greatest detective in the world, had seen the new student's records himself and was the one who approved his acceptance in the first place. The greatest detective in the world! That which the Academy is determinedly trying to produce more copies of, the world-renowned Deneuve!

He'd met Deneuve before, just a year ago actually. For two consecutive weeks, the mysterious man had accepted-no, he had even _requested_-Mello's companionship during a case he'd decided to work on at the Academy. Before that time, Deneuve had _never_ allowed the presence of anyone around him at work, besides Wammy. Never! Not even Near, that mousy pipsqueak, the top ranking student, the boy whose education was funded by Deneuve himself! Needless to say, it was the proudest chapter of Mello's life. For one, he was able to experience something he knew Near wanted terribly. More importantly, it meant that Deneuve trusted him, even at his age and rank, to show him that particular case. He had taken an interest in him and found him worthy enough to mentor privately through an actual case! And even though he sounded all but indifferent, the boy knew that Deneuve chose him for a reason. Mello had taken that blissful event to heart. Even now, although Deneuve rarely ever visited the school or answered to his monthly letters, the blond's heart still leapt for miles whenever he thought of that man. He doubted anyone understood just how much he looked up to Deneuve...

But today's news was turning everything upside-down. Much like Mello was Deneuve's first actual apprentice (for two weeks), this new student was the first person the detective had cared enough to personally accept. It was extremely unsettling for Mello. He already had Near to worry about, so why in the fucking world should another bullshit prodigy intervene now?! He gripped the rosary in his hands, trying to sustain himself before the eyes of the Lord. Besides the red hot fury that had spread like wildfire throughout his entirety, there was also a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't very well pacify. It was a feeling he usually felt when in the same room as his albino rival and/or under the surveillance of Deneuve. Neither of them were around at the moment, so...why was he feeling like this?

This seething, possessive jealousy...

The boy flinched at the mere thought of this new student interrupting the ranks. He had worked hard to get where he was on that list, and if somebody intervened now, he'd likely lose his mind. Not that it was all that difficult to place...second. Everyone else was a breeze to defeat, after all. It wasn't as if they were trying all that hard anymore, since Mello had basically terrorized them into submission. In fact, Mello had had a massive ego boost after learning under the great Deneuve, making his reputation all the more incredible. He had scared everyone into ranking below himself using both unequaled aggression and frightening intellect. The challenge was moving upwards to first, and damn it all if he can't at least have that challenge to himself! It was infuriating enough that he was constantly being bested by one of the youngest children in the Academy, but to have a new student that had yet to acknowledge Mello's rules...If that wasn't a threat to his reputation! It was enough to piss him off, and he hadn't even met that person yet.

Mello was now practically foaming at the mouth, thoroughly shaken by this horrid mix of emotions. Anger, jealousy, paranoia...He couldn't let himself succumb to any of these things lest he should dream of yet another layer of hell tonight. Shaking his head furiously against that thought, Mello finally forced himself to stand up from the pews. He wasn't about to throw a tantrum in a chapel! He had to leave. He had to calm down, quickly! Besides...judging from the way the chamber had darkened around him, it was probably already dinnertime.

Before leaving the chapel, Mello snuck one last glance at the cross hanging overhead. If anyone could help him achieve his goals...right?

.

* * *

**SUIMURAN:** Mello is introduced! And indirectly, so is Near! Now to make things a little clearer, here's a list of the key characters so far and their correlation.

Light Yagami - new student. Doesn't know his family is dead yet.

Mail Jeevas / Matt - comic relief A. Mello's friend who befriends Light.

Mihael Keehl / Mello - antagonist A. Wants Light out of the contest between himself and Near.

Nate River / Near - Numero Uno.

Deneuve / Lawliet / L - Near's benefactor. Greatest detective in the world. Soon to be Light's benefactor.

And the official pairings for this fanfiction are as follows:

L-Light

Matt-Mello/Mello-Matt

some Mello-Near weirdness because it is inevitable

Wammy-Roger. Just kidding.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review! Tell me what you think! And share with me your favorite legendary unfinished Death Note fanfiction! I'm drowning in a wave of nostalgia and nobody to share it with...

Dream well, everyone.


	3. L'Orphelin

**SUIMURAN:** I'd like to thank **Seishirou Hitsugaya,** **Chellyisback, **and **Lacie's Tune **for their reviews and support. Especially Seishirou Hitsugaya, who keeps pointing out things that I skip over without explanation. Y'all would be confused if no one asked about the little mistakes.

Seeing as my old readers are long gone or don't remember this -sniffs- I'm just going to focus on moving the story forward and, hopefully, providing y'all with something to enjoy. Hmm, I remember back when I first published this fanfic. The first reviewer was Serria, who I was (and still am) a very big fan of. OHh god my heart hurts

* * *

**Daddy Long Legs**

.

Half past midnight. The only voice ringing in the world of Quillsh Academy was deep and resigned, a voice laced with as many secrets as it was with warmth. Hidden behind doors of the upstairs office, the man who owned that voice paced back and forth on tired feet.

"Are you sure about this?" Sir Quillsh Wammy was talking into his cellphone. The voice on the other line, similar to his in that it was also deep, spoke strictly. Whatever was happening at this ungodly hour, neither party seemed to be at ease.

"_Yes, I am,_" the other voice was saying. "_Tell him only the most important things. Whatever question he has afterwards, he can give to me. Is this all right with you, Wammy?_"_  
_

"...Yes, I suppose so." Wammy closed his eyes and thought of the man on the other line, the man of many names that he himself had raised as his own son, sitting alone on the other side of the world. What could he be thinking? The young man was never one to make unclear, and possibly unwise, decisions. So why...?

"_Thank you. I'll be back next month to check on...both of them. Goodbye, Wammy._"

"Goodbye, Lawli..." the old man paused, and tried again. "Goodbye, Deneuve."

There was a beep, and the call ended.

Quillsh Wammy was alone.

.

_III. L'Orphelin_

.

"Two down, eight to go. Sin, you be killing 'em!"

"For the last time, will you get out of my room?"

"Girl, you crazy. Ain't nobody leaving this crib."

Utterly defeated, Light slammed a fist on the assignments piled on top of his desk. The Academy, naturally, treated its students precisely as they were: highly intelligent livestock. This was the first time in his life that the prince was given more work than he wanted to tackle, which he supposed was a nice little challenge. However, he could and definitely would _not _be able to deal with these papers while a certain redhead was making so much noise behind him. Said redhead, nicknamed Matt, was causally sprawled over Light's bed, looking at this week's copy of the rankings. In just four days, his new Japanese friend had annihilated his way to the top ten, wrenching ninth place from a certain Linda who was rumored to have cried through an entire night afterwards. Needless to say, Matt was in awe of this newcomer, just like everyone else. The only problem, Light thought bitterly, was that _this _kid was intent on admiring his intelligence RIGHT IN HIS FACE, instead of from afar like all the other people did.

Light rolled his eyes and tried for the hundredth time to pay attention to the papers in front of him.

"Seriously though," the boy continued, twisting over Light's now violently-mangled bedsheets. "You keep this up, and we're gonna have to nickname you 'Boss.'"

"You're not going to call me 'Boss,' Matt."

"Not unless we name you 'God.'" Matt retaliated. "Better than 'Sin,' admit it."

"Very funny."

"Aren't I, though."

All right, that was it. Frankly, he was tired of the pointless dialogue. Light pushed his chair back and stood up to approach the bed Matt had conquered. He had been tolerating the boy's incessant yammering for almost two hours now for no reason besides his own patience, and that was long gone. He had no idea it was possible, for his patience to run dry, but it happened, and it was tragic, and it was the final straw. Light was going to kick this big-mouthed idiot out, even if it meant showing a side of him that was not so noble.

He was just about to grab him by the shirt when the door flew open and all of Satan's hell broke loose in one shout, delivered by someone who, ironically, claimed to be on God's side.

"Hey you, get your ass in Wammy's office! You're on your own now, Sin!"

For one moment, an overbearing silence exploded in Light's sunny bedroom as the three people looked at one another, each drowning in their own confusion. On the one hand, Light was wondering to himself why he was being called to Wammy's office during the weekend when he was sure he had done nothing wrong. On the other hand, Matt was gawking at the person at the door. He was clearly overjoyed, but at the same time he seemed to be willing himself to disappear. Mello, the messenger, was glaring fire into the very souls of both Light and Matt, painfully torn between rivalry and betrayal.

After approximately forty seconds, all three of them attempted to speak. A long jumble of overlapping noise was the only result, and so they had to try again.

"What do you mean?" this time, Light's words came first.

"I mean just what I said, now go," Mello snapped and then turned to Matt. "_You._"

Matt hesitated. His body was slowly folding into itself now.

"Hey Mel," he croaked. "Hi, hello. What's up?"

Disliking the answer he got, Light interrupted.

"Didn't Mr. Wammy tell you why he wanted to see me?" he asked, feigning calm. Mello rudely glanced at him from the corner of his eye and mouthed a poisonous, '_Oh my god_.' Then, raising his voice, the blond walked directly up to Light.

"Look," he said viciously. "You, Sin, are on your own. I can't make it any clearer than that. You got a problem with it, take it up with Wammy. And you, Matt-" he turned back to the now cowering redhead, "-what the fuck do you think you're doing here, you little shit? I told you yesterday you were supposed to-"

Despite the insult of having been ignored and kicked out of his own damn bedroom, Light was nevertheless glad that someone came to take Matt away. The prince started walking briskly from the right wing dormitories to the main building, where Mr. Wammy was waiting for him. Why in the world was he being called up today? Was he surprised that Light had already taken down both 10 and 9 from the list? Surely they didn't expect him to let all these kids slow him down from his progress!

Once again, he faced the heavy oak doors that concealed Wammy's office. He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair before knocking and, upon admission, entering the familiar room.

A dim atmosphere instantaneously rushed towards his body. Light fought hard not to worry as he studied the superintendent's distressed body language. Mr. Wammy was sitting at his desk as he'd last seen him, with the exception that his forehead was propped up by a hand that massaged his temples in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. His eyes were hidden under the same wrinkled hand, but Light could see his mustache moving a little; the old man was muttering to himself. Placed in a straight row upon the desk were a thin stack of documents, a slightly damaged package, and a rather out-of-place blue envelope.

"G-good afternoon, Mr. Wammy," Light immediately regretted the stutter he let escape his mouth. The man did not seem to notice it at all. He jumped slightly at Light's voice and gradually assumed a more professional demeanor, taking the time to stare blankly at the items before him.

"Ah yes, good afternoon, Sin," he finally said after gaining composure. "Please have a seat. We have quite a few things to discuss."

Light reluctantly approached the same seat he had last time and sat down, never taking his eyes off the superintendent.

"Is something the matter, sir?" he inquired. Of course something was wrong and he himself despised rhetorical questions, but at the moment Light couldn't bring himself to say much else. He was earnestly worried about the old man, who now looked much much older with that terrible expression on his face. "Did I...do something wrong?"

"Not at all, no. In fact I can see that you did exceptionally well for your first week," Mr. Wammy smiled sadly, trying to start with something nice, which of course made Light even more nervous. His heart rate increased each minute the man hesitated. "I...I have called you here because..."

_Get on with it..._

"I have received..."

_Get on with it!_

"...terrible news."

Mr. Wammy had given it all away before even saying it. By observing the superintendent's body language and words, Light had already built up a suspicion of his own. But those...Those last two words. They threw away many more clues than Light needed to come to the conclusion.

"My family..." he whispered, more to himself than the man before him. "Is my family all right?"

"You see, Light-"

Oh great, as if calling him by his real name would make him calm down at this point!

"-there was an incident in your city last week. Someone went on a rampage in Shinjuku. He...well, he killed six people."

"...No."

"Light, I'm afraid that your family was among those six people. They-"

"No."

He would not accept this. He definitely was not going to accept this. This was not happening.

His family.

"Light, they were all killed. I am-"

"_No!_"

"I am very sorry for your loss, Light."

Silence.

.

Mello's reign was starting to falter under the new student's presence. It was immediately clear, when Sin first showed up in one of the three classes they now had together, that the older boy had a motive of his own, but it seemed only Mello could sense that. The rest of the students were either awed by Sin's majestic aura, or had long become used to the competition and were more interested in their own private worlds. In any case, although they had never met before, Mello felt that Light's blatant air of confidence was being aimed directly at him, as if in provocation. It was absolutely sickening! Did he think he was threatening?

(Because, really, he was...)

A couple of days have passed since their first encounter, so he honestly had no business in dwelling over that anymore. Sin had done much, much more than challenge him directly without a single word since then. Apparently, in the four days that the Japanese student had spent in this school so far, he had been able to attract a massive amount of attention to himself. And with what else but his pure talent, combined with that undeniably handsome face of his! It was manipulation at its finest, and everyone knew it! They weren't stupid enough to not know that, but obviously they were still deeply enchanted. Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting! How could one person step foot into a different school, in a different country, and just _so easily_ establish himself as the good god-hero-golden boy in four days?

Four, god-fucking-damn days?

What the everlasting fuck?

Mello shook the thought away from him furiously, flailing his hands in the air. He had more important things to do right now, damnit!

See, there was a boy whom Mello knew very well. That boy was nicknamed Matt. Said Matt was currently sitting on the bed of the very person Mello had just been fuming about for the last week, and why? Why was Matt sitting on that bed? Who knew why? But the redhead's earlier display of fake fear had finally died down, and he'd finally somewhat absorbed the gravity of the situation, meaning that he was now ready to have a discussion.

Or a beating.

Whichever one would suit Mello just fine.

"Matt," the blond hissed, approaching who he thought was his 'friend' with the aura of a full-fledged murderer. "I'm going to repeat myself for you, do you understand?"

"Uh-huh, Mel. Yes." Matt hurried, feigning boredom.

"Okay then, here we go. _What the fuck are you doing in his room?_"

Mello's insinuating question was rather effective, he observed. Matt was scarcely able to hide a snarl, but the boy couldn't resist getting up off the bed and looking Mello in the eye. It was common knowledge that stepping up against Mello in his killer mode meant suicide, but Matt was beyond stubborn and was so used to this treatment that he had long since stopped fearing the consequences. As long as they were still friends, of course.

"I was looking to have a fucking duel to the death, Mello, what'd you think?" he said sarcastically. "I was hanging out with him, of course!"

"That's exactly it, Matt! Why the hell are you hanging out with that loser? He's a fucking idiot!"

"I can hang out with whoever I want, Mello. And judging by the way he's racing the the top of the list, he isn't an idiot."

Upon sticking his tongue out at Mello, Matt received a painful blow to the face. It resounded within the walls of Sin's small room, a dull whack of knuckle hitting cheekbone. In an instant, another punch was heard, but this time it was from the first victim's. Before long, a fight was born. It took all of ten minutes for someone, anyone, to finally hear the scuffle and call the adults to break it up. Another five minutes to dissolve the small crowd that had gathered outside Sin's room, and then another two minutes to keep Mello steady in the grip of two full-grown but nervous staff members.

"Don't you fucking talk about the list, Matt!" Mello spat. "And don't fucking talk to him! You're my friend! You fucking prick!"

And in another two minutes, Matt was left alone to absorb his friend's words.

.

* * *

**SUIMURAN: **Whoo. I felt that if I extended the scene with Wammy any longer, I wouldn't be able to live. I tend to skip scenes a lot, too, otherwise the entire thing becomes mundane. Kinda wanted to make the chapter a little longer too, but the next scene fits the next chapter much better. Ugh. Talk about a shit fanfic writer. Also before anyone asks, the chapters are in French because I fancy L is partly French. That's all there is to it, really. Haha.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. Over time, they have become a rare commodity in the environment called the Death Note Fanfiction Archive. Writers are updating chapters while metaphorically starved for these things called Reviews, which do plenty more than restore writer HP and MP. Did you know they boost a writer's motivation by anywhere from 5 to 50 percent? Of course, reviews are only given to those who are permitted to survive. So really, it's all up to you, readers!

Dream well, everyone.


	4. L'Etranger

**Daddy Long Legs**

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_IV. L'Etranger_

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A crowd of figures in black was all he could see from where he stood, but he knew what was happening. He could tell from the tears that were falling from the women's faces and the sullen eyes of men. The sounds that reached the very back of the crowd gave everything away, as well. The funeral for a hero was really happening.

He recalled his first days on the job, meeting the hero of the Kanto region and shaking his hand. It had surely been a life-changing moment, he had decided then, seeing just how Yagami's handshake served as the epitome for all that he was. Stern, aloof, and warm. Everything that a police officer should be, with the golden heart that, sadly, not many people in the world carried. To feel the nobility from a reserved man as Soichiro Yagami was, undeniably, the most humbling feeling he had ever had.

And now, the renowned police chief, mentor to many, was dead. The man was famous for his old-fashioned, samurai-esque views on justice in the name of their country. During his years as chief, Yagami had tirelessly captured one criminal after another, gaining the respect of superiors and co-workers alike. His name became a household term in the Kanto region, and was often uttered in discussions of peace and security. It was no secret that the man valued the safety of his city more than he valued his own life; that in itself had been enough to influence everyone around him, at work or elsewhere. Even in death, he had protected those around him as well as he could with his own body. (The Yagami family was found in a heap, the father having embraced his wife and daughter in a failed attempt to shield them from the bullets). It was a shame that such a fire had been extinguished. And by a despicable lowlife of a criminal, nonetheless!

The reality of it already hit him many times before, but now that the funeral was actually in motion, Shuichi Aizawa finally reached the sadness that evaded him for days. It was an infuriating kind of sadness in the way that it was dull, as if it were barely hanging on to existence. Real enough to be acknowledged, but too slight to be felt wholeheartedly. He wished for extremes of either sorrow or indifference, but found himself dangling precariously in the center of both. No matter what he remembered of the legendary chief, the fact remained the same.

He would never feel the pain of losing Soichiro Yagami and his wife and daughter.

No, not the way his last remaining family member did.

As if on cue, Light Yagami's face came into focus among the crowd. The chief's son had flown in from his expensive foreign school to witness the funeral and cremation of his entire family, accompanied by an old English man hidden within a large coat. Aizawa supposed there was nothing more shocking than the news of one's family's death while one was alone overseas. Trying his hand at sympathy, he eyed Light's derelict form and wondered what kind of thoughts were going through his head at the moment. The teenager was heartbroken, which was clear despite the facade he'd served up of remaining healthy and collected. The pretense was useless, really; one could peer into the surviving Yagami's eyes and find all the tears he'd hidden away. But to indulge the boy, everyone in the procession put up a facade of their own, one that collectively believed that Light was all right. He would be fine. Aizawa shrugged internally. Light had always been backed up by a mask of some sort. It had become so natural to him that he rarely ever found a need to take it off. The police officer knew as much.

Having met the genius boy once before, he imagined Light to be worrying about paperwork and insurance issues, besides internally grieving for his loss. There was no doubt about that; the boy's rationality and inclination to plan things beforehand were things that Aizawa remembered about him. If that was how he had been at fourteen, when they had first met, then surely he could take care of himself. Especially since he was now alone. Aizawa sighed to himself. The English man beside Light had already taken care of everything concerning Light's situation. He knew this because, as one of Soichiro Yagami's most trusted acquaintances, which was all he ever felt he was, the chief had long ago entrusted him with certain issues of his death.

He wondered what the boy would do when he was finally alone with the ashes. But he quickly shook his head at himself. The cremation was a private ordeal, and he would leave it as such. Yes, even in thought.

For one fleeting moment, Light turned his head around, as if suddenly avoiding the sight of the coffins before him. For one fleeting moment, his eyes latched on to Aizawa's, and for forty seconds, something between the two came to light.

_I don't understand, but I'm sorry._

Light kept his gaze a little longer. Then he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and turned back to his family. Did he get the message?

Who knew.

It started raining. Which was just as well, seeing that the funeral was almost over. Aizawa noted the particularly heavy clouds above and shook his head before walking away. Even the sky was gloomy. Once again, he felt the dull pounding of sadness within him, trying and failing to become anything worth a damn. From the start, whatever the world knew of the late police chief was rendered incomparable to what Light knew of his late father. Aizawa would never come close to it, despite the pain in his chest. He was all but a stranger, drifting around the edges of something he had only been in for the briefest and most insignificant moments.

This was not his tragedy.

Thus, the disconnect.

* * *

**SUIMURAN: **I felt this was essential. I wanted there to be a funeral scene, but even I wouldn't be able to express Light's pain, even if it is fictional. So I had my favorite member of the task force do it for me. Aizawa seems like mostly a neutral character to me...or, at least, the most detached. Even Mogi, who was the silent one, became fond of Misa. I couldn't convey what I wanted to through anyone else.

Here are my replies to the sweet readers who dropped reviews! I'm replying also to the reviews from Chapter 2, by the way.

Lacie's Tune: Haha, well I certainly don't want to abandon this fanfiction a second time. The first time was hard enough to get over. And yes! Oh, I loved that era! The Death Note fandom was truly at its finest back then, it's almost sad that it's in this state now, but it lives on...and it's natural I guess.

Maki-chan: I'd have loved to just slam Light into first place at first try, but I couldn't! He's in a school of geniuses, I'd feel bad if they weren't more of a challenge to Light than his previous classmates were. The guy needs some level of difficulty!

Seishirou Hitsugaya: Not absurd at all, I just want to give the other students some credit to their genius too. Oh don't you worry, depression is definitely lingering within Light.

SoShi Love x3: Well thank you. It's still too early for me to nod my head in pride, but it's coming along pretty well. AND I AGREE WHOLEHEARTEDLY. There is nothing worse than a five-year cliffhanger in a supremely magnificent fanfiction! I can't tell you how many times I've almost cried in desperation. The Death Note fandom produced so many wonderful works and it's just such a heartbreaking thing, knowing most of them are incomplete. Oh man, don't even suggest a WammyxRoger fic or I'd get to work on that shit like a lunatic. A younger version of themselves, meeting for the first time, cooperation and camaraderie, etc oh. And thanks for correcting me on that sentence, yo. It was truly whack.

Kacy: DO YOU REALLY? Oh, you're the first one! I love you and I miss you and I'm sorry for taking it away! Never give up hope, keep the fandom aliiiiiveee

Reader-anonymous-writer: I gotta say, yours was definitely one of the most interesting reviews I've had in my eight years here. You analyzed a few sentences that can't exactly be noted, due partly to my inability to convey things the way I truly want to. I really appreciate that. Unfortunately I know nothing about Naruto XP Hmm. You're interesting, is all I can add to that.

Thank you to you guys, and whoever else reads my DLL!

Dream well, everyone.


	5. La Lettre de M Deneuve à Sin

**SUIMURAN: **Aizawa will likely not be appearing in later chapters. He was only the medium to the theme of distance I wanted to express in the previous chapter. Also, because that chapter was really short, I've decided to post this one up the day after. So even though both chapters aren't very long, there's two of them so it kinda evens out.

I've decided to reply to my reviewers at the bottom of each chapter. I tend to ramble and attempt some form of communication besides the formal reader-writer type of thang.

* * *

**Daddy Long Legs**

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Unbeknownst to Light, there were in fact other orphans living in the school. One of them was lucky enough to have been adopted by Deneuve. According to records, the child was found by Deneuve the way he himself had been found by Quillsh Wammy when he was young: orphaned, ignored, and intellectually restricted in the institution where he had been discarded. They say that the boy was pitiful, unsightly; a small creature barely big enough to be the age his certificate claimed him to be. With shock-white hair, large eyes, and a knack for breaking one down with just one glance, he had been neglected by the caretakers from his last orphanage and resorted to hiding under his bed. Upon first meeting him, Deneuve had had a difficult time communicating with the boy, who was then mute and trusted nobody in the same room as himself. But his intelligence shone straight through his silence and the great detective was compelled to take him under his wing, whisking him away to the Academy, where he slowly made his way to the top without so much as a glance at anyone else.

Oh, and did that stir quite a scandal in the school! More than Mello's determination, the students of Quillsh Academy were rather put off the younger boy's ingenuous prominence. With the rankings clearly compromised and seemingly out of their reach, it became an unspoken fact that the race for Deneuve's stature was a game only for the top two students. There was the tyrannic fire that was Mello, and then there was the iceberg they called...

_Near._

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_V. La Lettre de M. Deneuve à Sin_

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Sixteen-year-old genius Light Yagami, now known as Sin, looked back to that specific moment when everything he had had all his life was broken into irretrievable pieces. He recalled, almost shyly, the curtain of shadow that collapsed over his body as he gazed at the faces of his loved ones. The way the world seemed to close in on him, the way the sky grew and darkened immeasurably. The sound of strangers' condolences oozing like thick pus from their mouths despite the tenderness. Most of all, the way those eyes furrowed to accommodate understanding frowns, as if they too had been shot through the heart. He held no personal contempt for them, but Light could not help the feeling of rage towards the expression those people had offered then.

_Did they think it was going to help?_ _What can their sympathy ever do to take this away?_

His father, his mother, and his sister no longer existed.

Despite it being the biggest thing in his life, it had to be kept secret, along with his real name.

Light felt truly alone.

It was as if he had been paralyzed, unable to express his pain yet unable also to defeat it. Each memory that flitted through his mind threatened to take him down: his father's influence, his mother's affection. Sayu's innocence, memories of petting her head to escape the hugs...Thinking back on it, the boy decided that it would have been much less devastating if he had cried out his all during his visit. But while he was in Japan, he was constantly presented with mugshots of the murderer. Kurou Otoharada's face had been there everywhere he went, from the giant screens in the city to the papers. He couldn't bring himself to break, not when he was being watched. And now the chance had gone and he was left to will himself through the following days with nothing but silence to soothe the ache.

For some reason, it felt too late to break now.

Coming back to school after the cremation, he'd done his best to retain the same aura as he had when he first took the Academy by storm. Each strand of hair, as usual, was meticulously combed into submission, and his smile practiced ten times over before the mirror. Each day he utilized his facade of perfection, and each day nobody caught the slightest sign of sorrow. He had focused on drilling upwards in the ranks instead of contemplating his situation, taking down another two prodigies and landing seventh place. This was, after all, Sin. This was the impression he so gracefully handed everyone from the beginning; he couldn't very well back down now. The Quillsh Academy was now his only home, whether he liked it or not, and damn it all if he wasn't going to conquer it! His parents certainly did not make all the sacrifices to send him here for nothing! Light was going to be someone who would make them proud, even if they were already dead.

As such, Light found himself immersed in books and papers as he drove himself through two more hours of schoolwork. He was offered a day off yesterday to 'feel better,' as Roger said, and Light accepted it, more to shut the man up than to grieve. He knew now, of course, that it had not been a good decision after all; a day's worth of late work was all but thrown into his arms when he'd gone and collected them from his teachers, and now he was paying the price. Quantum physics, theology, and Plato littered his desk and mind, competing with one another for complete focus. It was one of the rare times that Light felt unable to sort his priorities, which were now fluctuating erratically.

Unforgivable.

One thing in particular bothered him the most, represented in the form of a blue envelope tucked inside Light's desk drawer. It was one of the items that Sir Wammy had with him back in the office, given to him after an hour spent talking things over with the superintendent. For some odd reason, he felt somewhat hesitant about opening it, instead hiding it away in an attempt to forget. Obviously, the plan had failed. Light had an inkling as to what the envelope contained. It was not that he was afraid of what it was, or who it was from and why. Rather, he was actually excited, and that was what bothered him. How could he be _excited _at a time like this? About a topic concerning his family's death, nonetheless. Light hated the guilt that came with this excitement, but at the same time he felt he needed to open the envelope to get it over with. Take the next step. If he was correct in his suspicion, then his life here was certainly about to get more interesting...

As the sun slowly shifted its way downwards, Light was no longer able to contain his curiosity. Dissatisfied but overall finished with his work, he set his papers aside, stacking them neatly where the light of a dying day could not reach them. He would double-check his assignments tomorrow, when he felt more stable. He reached for the envelope and took the time to admire the _Sin_ printed on the back before opening it to find a letter. Noticing that it was written entirely in Japanese, he began reading:

_Yagami Light. You are to continue to study in the Academy. You need not worry about your situation. Wammy and I have taken care of everything. From this day forward, I will be funding your education. If you have any questions, or simply want to talk, do not hesitate to write to me. I cannot pretend to understand your plight, but as your new benefactor I will not let you suffer by yourself._

_You are not alone._

_-Deneuve_

A sharp gasp pierced the silence. Light, who stopped breathing while reading, felt like hyperventilating. Perhaps it was merely himself and his imagination, but Light thought he gathered so much from that short, short letter. What was all of this? What did it mean? Apparently, he was now under the care of Deneuve?

_Oh nothing, really. I was just accepted into the Academy by Deneuve, y'know, and now the goddamn detective himself is paying for my goddamn education. It's nothing, really!  
_

The news was hardly anything to remain calm about. Wrought with all sorts of emotions ranging from grief to anger to guilt to mirth to relief to gratitude to desperate and utter confusion, Light found little else to do but drop Deneuve's letter and rest his head on the desk. This was a lot to take in. He would need some time to process all of this new information, to sort them all out and extract all that he needed from them for future use. His heart, still freshly abused, tried to keep up with the world suddenly spinning quickly around him.

For the first time in his life, Light was unable to come up with a quick way to restore himself.

Thanking the sunset spilling in from his window, he stood up and clambered off to bed, deciding instead to avoid further stress by falling asleep.

.

INT. AN INCONSPICUOUS BUILDING - NIGHT

Deneuve, current greatest detective in the world, a young man with promising wit yet questionable appearance, sits crouched on a red armchair with a thumb in his mouth. He holds an unwrapped lollipop in one hand.

On the coffee table before him, a laptop glows as the only source of light in the room. It burns into unblinking eyes, reflecting, reflecting.

DENEUVE: Forty-two...no...forty-five...

His toes start curling and uncurling, as if he has realized something important but is not willing to do much else about it.

DENEUVE: Forty-six?

Silence. Deneuve ponders to himself for a moment, absently nibbling at his thumb nail. Finally he sighs and sets the lollipop on an armrest. Taking his time, he unfolds himself from his crouch to stand. He approaches the laptop, which is now overheating with a muffled hum, and forcefully presses the power button.

DENEUVE: Forty-eight percent. Near will be furious.

The laptop screen flickers and fades to black.

* * *

**SUIMURAN: **Oh my god, this chapter was a bitch to write. I realized I hardly write movement, just description and what happened this and that. Ugh. I just hope you guys don't hate the way I write too much.

L finally appeared...except he is still not visiting the Academy. The guy is rather slow, but he's got cases to solve so it's all right. Light can wait for his love life!

Below is a list of things you can expect within in the next two chapters:

-Near. I described his past in the beginning of this chapter as sort of a foreshadowing to the next chapter.

-MxM. The guys had a fight when we last saw them, and they need to make out. I mean, make up.

-Communication with other students of the Academy. This is crucial because it explains more about the ranking and the students' opinions of it)

-A letter to Deneuve from Light.

-Hyuk.

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CatatonicVanity: Thank you very much. I don't mind at all if you're not one of my old readers! I hope you enjoy your stay. I see you have an extensive list of Death Note fanfictions...Excellent. I'm going to have to read them.

Seishirou Hitsugaya: I love Aizawa, but he is too irrelevant to the premise of the story. Using him once was already a far cry, but I really had to do it. (Well not really). And yes, Aizawa meant that he didn't understand Light's pain but offers his condolences anyway. The chapter was short, I'm sorry, and so was this one, but I hope it makes up for it. I vow to you, Seishirou Hitsugaya, that I will make the LxLight romance worth your wait!

Dream well.


	6. Ceux Qui Dorment Sont Bénis

**SUIMURAN: **Okay. I'm trying to keep them as far away from OOC as I can, but my meager abilities are making it so damn difficult...also the fact that this is BL. I find it hard to believe they'll stay in character where there is romance involved. But that's just me. And my meager abilities. XP

I'll have you guys know that I worked hard on this chapter and made it much longer than my updates usually are. Enjoy and review!

* * *

**Daddy Long Legs**

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INT: The same insufficiently lit and furnished room as before, with the exception that the floor is now littered with not a handful, but a hundred coffee-stained tissues and candy wrappers.

Deneuve sits on his armchair, holding a piece of paper between a thumb and forefinger. The expression on his face is reminiscent of a child's when exposed to something new, as if unsure of whether he found it pleasant or unnerving. The kanji on the letter is easy for a man of his caliber to read, so it can only be assumed that the meager content of the letter itself is the object of Deneuve's dissatisfaction.

_Deneuve,_

_Thank you. I will not let you down._

_-Sin._

Brief is an understatement. The letter itself seems to be its own reason to fade out.

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_VI. Ceux Qui Dorment Sont Bénis_

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1:39 AM.

Light Yagami laid in bed, staring at the moonlight sitting in his bedroom like an old friend. Sleep was eluding him tonight, as was easily determined from his baggy eyes and restless fingers. Why this was so was not easy to admit, however. He had never had trouble sleeping before, although he supposed there always had to be a first time to everything, but this was simply ridiculous! If he wanted to push everyone's faces to the ground, then he absolutely needed at least seven hours of sleep. Without it, he would only have the energy enough to move up another two ranks, and that was the best case scenario. Now that he was around the middle of the list and officially posed a major threat, he knew that his current contenders would be tougher than the ones he had already surpassed. He was by no means worried about them, of course; what he needed sleep for was to have enough energy to kick them while they were down, after being thoroughly defeated. Victory was much sweeter that way.

Not that he was always this sadistic. Light actually preferred bowing his head and smiling shyly at his achievements, as if he had not meant to pummel his enemies to the depths of hell, because it saved him the trouble of fighting and instead made admirers out of losers. But when a family death occurs and one is too proud to express his emotions properly, one might instead become hostile. Light was already naturally wary, but he had never been as obvious about it until recently.

He shifted in his bed and closed his eyes, as if doing so would encourage sleep to finally take over his body. But the stubborn thing wouldn't hear of it. The only thing his movement affected was the comfort, which all but dwindled away, slipping out the window and towards the light of the distant stars. Perhaps, he thought, it was because of the previous nights that he found it so hard to sleep now. He had awoken to three separate nightmares recently, and in between each it became harder and harder to keep his brain calm. Light was usually capable of breezing through particularly terrible dreams, but the last three involved quite an amount of familial memories and things that hit a little too close to home. The first was not very unnerving so he paid it no mind; it was a televised recount of his family's murder, which seemed a reasonable nightmare in Light's opinion. The second featured voices recycled by his memory, begging Light to come back home, before screaming as his family crashed to the ground, torn at the faces by spinning bullets. That was naturally impossible to ignore, but once again Light did nothing. He knew he was repressing emotions and as such was subjected to an outcry or two from his subconscious.

But then there was the third.

The face of Kurou Otoharada, the man that killed Light's family and three others in Shinjuku, had been displayed everywhere in Japan after the shooting took place. The great crime was reviewed at length like some groundbreaking scientific study. The media had taken his story and ran around the world with it, draining from it all they could share to their beloved public, the story of one sick man who simply got tired of his shitty life and decided to take it out on his fellow citizens. Namely the heroic Soichiro Yagami, who was his exact opposite. A scandal, right? And boy, did the media milk that for all it was worth, too! Photographs of both men were printed on millions upon millions of newspapers and magazines that only spoke of them, as if they had forgotten the names and faces of the others that were killed and injured, as if they had not a care in the world who they were.

But that wasn't important at the moment, it was something to consider for later. Right now...

That murderous face had been there, taunting, throughout Light's visit to Japan, so naturally he already had it memorized. But memory wasn't the only suspect responsible for the third nightmare; something else must have come into play during Light's subconscious ordeal, for what else could have bent and twisted that face to create a monster?

He could still remember it now: sunset in Shinjuku. He and his family were walking home together, chatting amiably. Evidence of a visit to a family restaurant was present in the form of Sayu's lips, still stained with chocolate cake. Everything was fine. However, Light could not shake an odd feeling from the pit of his stomach, something that he couldn't express but something that he felt he had to warn the others about. Just as he opened his mouth to tell his father, something went wrong. First, Kurou Otoharada emerged from behind one of the buildings, yelling incoherently at the sky. Then, he pulled out two guns from his coat and opened fire in the middle of the street. There was a riot. Light found himself almost being trampled to death while he fought against the crowd, trying to hold on to Sayu. Their parents had been led away from them by the stampede, which drove Light crazy, and reasonably so on account of the bullets now flying past their faces. Sayu was crying, hanging on to his arms for dear life. Suddenly their father emerged from the faces, carrying their mother in his arms. Blood was pouring from her back, flowing to her husband's clothes, his hands. Light cried out for his Sachiko, but the noise was overwhelming. Soichiro was shouting something that he couldn't hear, but upon reading his lips:

_"Light! Get down! Get down!"_

Two bullets found their way towards Sayu next. One tore through her stomach, just under her brother's protective arm, and the other silenced her cries as it was lodged through her left eye. Blood splattered across Light's face as he fought to keep from sobbing. It was bad enough like that, but seeing the alarm in his father's eyes fall into despair pushed him to the edge.

One. Two. An unfortunate pair of lovers, still holding on to each other, fell to the ground at Soichiro's feet. The man was jerked back to his senses right then, snapping his eyes to Light. Those eyes were gleaming with desperation, having just witnessed the deaths of Sachiko and Sayu. But most of all, they were looking at Light as if he were the only other person alive in the world. In just a few seconds, the chief forced himself to let go of his wife and dove towards his son.

He barely made it on time.

Light felt the bullet pierce through his father's chest as it collided against his own. Instinctually, he had tried to move aside despite not knowing where the bullet was coming from, and in doing so got a good look at the bullet spiraling out of his Soichiro's heart. Blood errupted from the wound in an instant. Light caught Soichiro before he hit the floor, just before the police chief's eyes fluttered close.

_"Dad!"_

Even then, the only reply he got was a command to get down.

To live.

The sun remained bright, reflecting off the hundreds of glass buildings that lamented the sight below. The crowd that had then been a giant storm had successfully dissipated, leaving only a few survivors scrambling to and fro around the six bodies. The police were fast approaching, followed by the wail of ambulances. Light finally broke down as the blood of his father, his mother, and sister made contact with his skin.

Even in such a dream, Light couldn't bear to let himself cry.

It was truly hideous, yes, but even then Light believed that he could have dismissed it as he did the first two. But only if the nightmare had ended at that._ It didn't._

He remembered Otoharada's disgusting face lingering over the bodies of his victims, even as the police cars were closing in on him. Wildly deranged and shaking with the force of an earthquake, he held no room for regret in those eyes, though it seemed he understood what he had done. It was terrifying in the way that it was simultaneously human and monster, and worse was that it was approaching. Light remembered the way those eyes shifted over to his body as an afterthought, the way he stumbled over limbs and blood to reach him. Light, in that dream, had plaintively gathered his father into his arms and was somehow unwilling to move. His body had frozen like that, clinging like a pansy to his dead daddy for what seemed like forever...

...until the madman raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

He remembered the sound of a gunshot.

He woke up sweating, with his fists clenched so hard it left marks on his palms.

And that was the last time he slept.

Needless to say, he was mortified. But of which aspect of the dream, he was hesitant to admit. Unlike the first two dreams, the third was the final straw, for it shed some light on a notion he wasn't sure he liked. The first dream only served to remind him of the distance between himself and his family, both physically and emotionally. That was no big deal. The second tried to dredge up the guilt of not having been there to do something, anything, to protect them from the murderer. That, too, was normal. But the third, although it seemed a normal follow-up to a string of gradually intensifying nightmares...it struck a different chord altogether. But which chord, he didn't know.

All Light knew was that he was offended. Like being forced to watch his family die, and then being killed himself, was more of a blow to his pride than it was pain...

He knew he was no dream interpreter, nor was he your local Freud. So there was a chance that he could be wrong, that he was thinking this over much more than he was supposed to, if at all. He would forgive himself instantly if he was wrong, so he hoped in spite of himself that he was. Dead wrong.

Not helping his case any, Light's body suddenly decided that the mattress was too stiff against his back. And arms. Legs. Neck. The truth was out: there was simply no way he could sleep tonight. At the very least, he thankful that it was Saturday. He would have to tire himself out with sports later, for a chance to pass out by the end of the day. For now, he would have to make do with succumbing to wakefulness. Light grimly stretched his limbs before slipping off his bed. The silhouette of his window had shifted over to his desk, creating the perfect light in which to read. Now was as good a time as any to start on that book he had been saving, anyway. Light pulled up his desk chair and promptly sat down, reaching for Nietzsche's _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_.

Unfortunately, he was unable to latch himself to even the opening sentence, as a new nemesis crept over his skin and sank to his chest. Of all the bullshit in the world...Now, it was loneliness he was dealing with.

How particularly emotional he was right now!

But that was only to be expected.. After all, he had just suffered through a long period of trials and tribulations. As long as it was not directly affecting his studies, he could feel as many wretched things as he wanted! To hell with his Saturday! And while he was at it, smack-dab in the middle of this irritable male syndrome, he might as well take someone down with him!

Light snapped his book shut and tossed it aside with a relish. Come to think of it, they wanted him to open up, right? Deneuve had mentioned it in his letter, that he would not let Light suffer alone. Not that he could truly do anything about that, since each living being in the world was inherenty alone the moment they were born. But if his benefactor's sentiments were honest, then he might as well...

Anything, anything at all, that would allow him to regain some form of control over the chaotic mess that was his mind.

Anything!

He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the corner of the desk. Before long, he was watching his own thoughts leaking from the pen, forming words that tried to convey his inner turmoil.

_Deneuve,_

_Blessed are those who sleep at night..._

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2:30 AM

There was an intrinsic connection he felt towards the boy called Mello that, while straddling the line between camaraderie and early onset organized crime, had Matt openly succumbing to the boy and his demands. He simply could not help himself. Was it because he cared little for much else? Possibly. Was it because Mello's aura refused to stay behind the wall of distance Matt had created with imagination and goggles? Very likely. Was it because...

(Was it because he was cute)

"NO!"

Matt was not yelling at his own thoughts, but at a dead end on the television screen.

He needed a solution, and soon!

_If I reach the next stage by 3 AM, I will. If I get killed by one of those fuckers, I won't._

_Win: apologize. Lose: wait._

Matt steered his little character on the screen to the left of the labyrinth and ended up in yet another dead end. Perhaps now was not the time to be playing videogames, what with the clock indicating that it was already 2:32 in the morning and his brain had burned out with cigarettes _hours_ ago. Everything that surrounded him was begging for him to go to sleep, from the smelly pile of clothes to the dead light wafting from the TV screen to the smelly unmade bed...But the redhead just couldn't get himself to stop despite his own exhaustion. The thing in the back of his mind begged to continue the game, although he had long forgotten the name of it, pondering instead the similarity between the protagonist and his object of affect-

"NOTHING!"

He meant nothing. Nothing at all.

It was just that, during times of conflict between himself and his friend, Matt was never quite able to steady himself. He was certainly not one of the children who could sit still for long; in fact, he had a tendency to fidget excessively and was only able to quell it for short periods of time by smoking or winding down in the shower. But the particular kind of uneasiness he felt when at odds with Mello was something that called for a different solution altogether. Sadly, that solution was yet to be discovered. So in the meantime, Matt was left to his devices, which usually involved approaching the blond and talking as if nothing had happened. If that didn't work, he would give his friend a little more time and space: a dosage that usually got Mello missing the redhead in two days flat. When worse came to worst he would simply resort to locking himself up in his room, reading manuals or drowning himself in a stream of televised programs, waiting for the courage to talk the problem out.

It was not going as well as he thought. Matt had tried the living shit out of all three strategies and came up empty-handed. Hell, he had even tried luring Mello back with a chocolate bar, but it had only resulted in a slap to the face and a violent rematch. The subject of their fight in the first place was all but forgotten and all that remained were the sound of the words they had thrown at each other's feet. Matt closed his eyes for a few moments, recalling the way Mello's face had scrunched up when he voiced his disappointment.

_"You're my friend!"_

But why did it matter so much? Mello knew Matt more than any one else in the Academy did, and vice versa. If anything, he should have congratulated Matt for getting close to Sin, for now he could analyze the newcomer as he pleased. (It hadn't been on Matt's list of motives, but after searching for reasons to justify himself, he had decided that this could be used to win Mello over. Not that Mello would listen to anything he had to say at the moment). So basically, Matt is in a position that can help Mello keep his place on the list! Mello's outburst was completely uncalled for-

_Medicine! For the sake of shit, medicine!_

-and anyway, his decision to interact with the kool new kid from Japan should not have to be questioned so damned much. He had _every_ right to talk to Sin, excuse you.

Besides, who else did he have a choice to talk to? It is a well-known fact that everyone in school was fucked up, one way or another, and the best anyone could do was stick to those most similar or compatible to themselves. But in spite of - and ironically due to - his apathy, Matt was one of the kids who were never able to find a group to identify with. He was never unfriendly, but his tendency to outwardly _care so little _about anything had earned him a reputation that was close to those of Mello and Near. And the former was really the only one who tried with the redhead, initially more for his own convenience than for actual friendship. Anyone else would have given up after having to talk to videogame sound effects and the occasional "Hmm."

Anyone else wouldn't do, anyway. In real life, only Mello held the light that Matt found in his games.

"CORNY!"

But nowadays, Mello was always locked away by things he deemed more important. In between studies, prayers, one-sided arguments with Near, and the regular tyranny practice over the other students, Mello rarely ever had a second to spare for Matt. When he did, it was duly spent ordering the gamer around and only half-paying attention to anything they did together. Matt had long since gotten tired of kicking a soccer ball around on his own while the blond stood watching, on days he actually felt like going outside. And nowadays they didn't even do that anymore, either! With Sin's arrival, Matt saw less and less of his own best friend each day. It was only right that he take from Sin the attention he was no longer receiving from Mello. It was _he_ who was stealing it away, after all. As far as he could tell, Matt had absolutely no reason to apologize.

So...why was he doing this again?

Why was he playing this videogame whose title he'd forgotten? And why would he apologize to Mello if he won, and wait for forgiveness if he lost?

2:56. Four minutes remaining.

Matt's descent to depression was about to take a turn for the worst when he heard a knock on the door. Noting the time, he wondered aloud as to who in their right minds found it in themselves to bother him at this late an hour...until the _two_ gentle knocks were followed by a loud kick and then a forceful entrance.

_Mello!_

There was a flash of black and yellow that darted from the door and straight to his bed, pinning him down against the mattress in seconds. In a moment, Matt found himself reflected in the eyes of a very _very _close Mello, who was now straddling the gamer as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He held an apple in each hand, one covered in chocolate and the other in caramel. Matt wondered how in the hell those damn apples did not hinder the speed with which Mello had attacked.

"See, I got to thinking," the intruder began thoughtfully. "And I've come to the conclusion that you, my friend..."

He paused for dramatic effect, swallowing the mush of chocolate and apple in his mouth before resuming,

"...are right."

But by now Matt was lost in the sight above him, the dramatic effect going directly over his head. Right? He was right? About what? All he knew was that the boy seated upon his body had strands of hair rebelliously sticking to the sides of his face, as if trying to make their way to his lips. And that those chocolate-stained lips were shining because of the apple juice dribbling from it. He also knew that Mello was placing his weight directly over a naughty area. Unknowingly or purposefully, it didn't matter. Shiny lips, pressure in the nether regions. What could be right about that?

"Uh?" he uttered, questioning his own presence in the Quillsh Academy.

Mello sighed.

"You are right," he repeated himself slowly, enunciating each syllable. "I haven't been fair to you lately, have I?"

The redhead found he was too intimidated to respond to that. Both _yes _and _no _seemed like dangerous answers. He resorted to keeping quiet, waiting with bated breath for Mello's next course of action.

Rolling his eyes, the intruder bent even lower so that his face lingered above his victim's. As if for safety, he pulled his left arm in so that the caramel apple was between them. Matt unconsciously dropped the controller from his hand, and it clattered to the floor uselessly. His character was being beaten to death by the enemies, but no one was paying attention to that now.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Something you've been crying like a bitch for," said Mello. He twisted the stick that held the apple between his fingers, and the caramel coating brushed across Matt's lips a couple of times.

"I am giving you _attention_, Matt."

"...Is that so."

"Mhm."

And the conversation ended at that. Matt suddenly found that he no longer had the energy or the will to stop this from happening. Come to think of it, he was not even sure if he knew _how_. The hand that held the apple drew closer so that the caramel was pressed against his mouth. Hesitantly, he opened it and took a bite, the crunch of the apple being the only noise that broke the silence. Even as he closed his eyes and pondered the taste of sugar and fruit he could feel Mello's eyes seeping through his skin, ruthless. Amused. It made him wish he wasn't filthy all over, made him wish self-consciousness was a myth. But most of all it made him warm. All the apathy in his arsenal flew out the window, and he couldn't help but think that, yes, only Mello could do this. With each bite, Matt was dripping away from embarrassment and straight towards bliss. It was almost shameful, but y'know.

3:12 in the morning. The digital clock could still be seen from his new position, although now it wasn't so threatening.

And he would surely be late for class tomorrow, but dear Lord in heaven...

_Apples are delicious!_

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**SUIMURAN: **Would any of you believe me if I claimed I did my best? Please review, tell me what you liked, what you hated. Nothing much really happened, though. My HP has drastically dwindled down to 1100/3000 from this update. I request plenty of medicine in the form of your opinions. The ultimate medicine would be if Ezan updated True Elision, but y'know. (I hate to bring it up again, but MY GOD! HAVE YOU GUYS READ IT?)

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_Ceux qui dorment sont bénis_ - "Those who sleep are blessed."

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Seishirou Hitsugaya: I'm glad you were happy about the two chapters :D It might not happen for quite a while yet, but with all the stuff Light's going through, I do predict a breakdown. You'll just have to wait and see, but as I said before, I will make it worth your wait.

CatatonicVanity: But you have pages and pages of Death Note fanfiction! You can't not recommend them!

H. Tagi: Thank you very much, that means a lot to me. Although this is only a fanfiction, to remind someone of Poe from my writing style is a really big thing. It was probably just that one line about the gates, but still. I'm also really really glad that you appreciate the little bits and pieces I throw around, like the titles and the mythology etc. I hope you enjoy your stay!

Chellyisback: Oh, Light will eventually get at L level. But right now he has to climb upwards, and it's not very easy when competing with other prodigies, hehe.

Anon: Particularly for you, I tried to make this chapter a little longer and will continue to keep them at a better length. I don't update every week, so it's only fair that I give you something worth waiting for, right? Thank you for your support, I appreciate your excitement. I actually found myself really encouraged by your reviews.


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